GOVERNMENT OF MOUNTJOY, 1601.
Mountjoy felt that his own hands were not quite clean, and he knew
that Carew was more thoroughly trusted than he was. The President's
excellent temper prevented anything like a rupture, but the Deputy's
letter shows how sensitive he was. It was in answer to one of these
despatches, in which he had likened himself to a scullion, that
Elizabeth wrote with her own hand one of those letters which go far to
reveal the secret of her power. 'Mistress Kitchenmaid,' she said, 'I
had not thought that precedency had been ever in question, but among
the higher and greater sort; but now I find by good proof that some of
more dignity and greater calling may by good desert and faithful care
give the upper hand to one of your faculty, that with your frying-pan
and other kitchen stuff have brought to their last home more rebels,
and passed greater break-neck places, than those that promised more
and did less. Comfort yourself, therefore, in this, that neither
your careful endeavour, nor dangerous travails, nor heedful regards
to our service, without your own by-respects, could ever have been
bestowed upon a prince that more esteems them, considers, and regards
them than she for whom chiefly, I know, all this hath been done, and
who keeps this verdict ever in store for you; that no vainglory nor
popular fawning can ever advance you forward, but true vow of duty and
reverence of prince, which two afore your life I see you do prefer. And
though you lodge near Papists, and doubt you not for their infection,
yet I fear you may fail in an heresy, which I hereby do conjure you
from; that you suppose you be backbited by some to make me think you
faulty of many oversights and evil defaults in your government. I
would have you know for certain that, as there is no man can rule so
great a charge without some errors, yet you may assure yourself I have
never heard of any had fewer; and such is your good luck that I have
not known them, though you were warned of them. And learn this of me,
that you must make difference betwixt admonitions and charges, and like
of faithful advices as your most necessariest weapons to save you from
blows of princes' mislike. And so I absolve you _a poena et culpa_,
if this you observe. And so God bless and prosper you as if ourself was
where you are.--Your Sovreign that dearly regards you.' It is easy to
understand what an effect such a letter must have had, and how Mountjoy
must have been encouraged in his difficult work.[369]
[Sidenote: Final reduction of the Wicklow Highlanders (January).]
It was supposed at the time that the death of Feagh MacHugh would free
Dublin from the depredations of the O'Byrnes; but his son, Phelim
MacFeagh, continued to give trouble, and the suburbs of the capital
were in almost nightly alarm. Shortly before Christmas Mountjoy set
out for Monasterevan, whither he had sent Arras hangings and other
baggage betokening a long stay there. But he himself suddenly turned
off near Naas, crossed the snowclad mountains with a strong force,
and entered Glenmalure quite unexpectedly. Ballinacor was surrounded,
and Phelim's wife and son captured, the chief himself escaping naked
out of a back window into the woods, while Mountjoy and his followers
consumed the Christmas stock of provisions. The cattle were swept out
of the country, the corn and houses destroyed, and at the end of three
weeks the Lord Deputy retired. Garrisons were placed at Tullow on one
side and Wicklow on the other, and these highlanders gave no further
trouble. Phelim MacFeagh, who was saved by the mountain floods, came to
Dublin, and submitted with due humility.[370]
[Sidenote: Mountjoy in the central districts (February).]
The early months of 1601 were spent by Mountjoy in devastating the
central districts. Starting from Monasterevan on January 29, he passed
by Kildare, which was in ruins and quite deserted, to Trim, and from
thence by Castletown Delvin to Mullingar, 'the shiretown of Westmeath,
compassed with bogs.' Athlone was reached on February 17, and then,
without resting more than a night, he doubled back to Macgeohegan's
castle of Donore. Between Lough Ennell and the place still called
Tyrrell's pass, he found the redoubtable Captain Tyrrell in his
stronghold, 'seated in a plain and in a little island compassed with
bogs and deep ditches of running water.' An attempt to cross with
hurdles and faggots was frustrated by the current, and an officer was
shot. Moryson, the historian, had a narrow escape. The English horse
kept always on the move, which generally protected them against the
fire of matchlocks, but the secretary, who was no soldier, and whose
white horse gave a good mark, felt one bullet whistle past his head,
while another struck his saddle. Proclamation was then made that no
one, on pain of death, should succour the rebels in any way, that the
country people should bring provisions to the camp, and that soldiers,
also on pain of death, should pay the market price. Two thousand crowns
were placed on Tyrrell's head, who thought it prudent to steal away
by night to another island in Queen's County, which was for the time
inaccessible, on account of the floods.[371]
[Sidenote: Mountjoy and Essex.]
While staying at Donore Mountjoy got a letter to say that Essex had
been sent to the Tower. 'It is not credible,' says Moryson, 'that the
influence of the Earl's malignant star should work upon so poor a snake
as myself.' Yet so it was. Mountjoy thought it prudent to range himself
ostentatiously on Cecil's side, and to depress Essex's friends, with
some of whom his secretary was connected. He took his most private
papers into his own custody, and Moryson says he never quite recovered
the blow. He tells us that, however his principal might clamour to be
recalled nothing was further from his thoughts, and that he had made
preparations to sail for France in case he was sent for to England.
Ten days later came a gracious letter from Elizabeth, in which she
announced the death of Essex, cautioned his successor to look well to
the loyalty of his officers, and forbade him to leave his post until
the intentions of Spain were better known.[372]
[Sidenote: Death of Essex. His confessions.]
[Sidenote: Lady Rich.]
Mountjoy had been implicated in the Essex intrigues quite enough
to make him nervous; but when it became clear that the Queen would
overlook all, he was probably sincerely anxious to return. He wrote
to solicit Nottingham's good offices, and the answer throws a curious
light upon the manners and morals of the time. 'I think,' wrote the
Lord Admiral, 'her Majesty would be most glad to look upon your black
eyes here, so she were sure you would not look with too much respect on
other black eyes. But for that, if the admiral were but thirty years
old, I think he would not differ in opinions from the Lord Mountjoy.'
And then he goes on to speak of Essex's behaviour after his trial,
and of those upon whom he had most unnecessarily drawn the suspicion
of the Government. His friend Southampton, his stepfather Blount, his
secretary Cuffe, were but a few of those to whom he ascribed a guilt
greater than his own. '"And now," said he,' so Nottingham continues,
'"I must accuse one who is most nearest to me, my sister, who did
continually urge me on with telling me how all my friends and followers
thought me a coward, and that I had lost all my valour;" and then thus,
"that she must be looked to, for she had a proud spirit," and spared
not to say something of her affection to you. Would your lordship have
thought this weakness and this unnaturalness in this man?'
Lady Rich was accordingly committed to the Lord Admiral's house, but
bore herself so becomingly that she was at once released. In writing
to thank her late gaoler for his kindness, she says: 'for my deserts
towards him that is gone, it is known that I have been more like a
slave than a sister, which proceeded out of my exceeding love, rather
than his authority... so strangely have I been wronged, as may well be
an argument to make one despise the world, finding the smoke of envy
where affection should be clearest.' This letter was sent to Mountjoy,
who--to do him such justice as is possible--was true to this most
unfortunate Penelope. Five years later, when Lord Rich had obtained
a mere ecclesiastical divorce from his wife, no less a divine than
William Laud was induced to perform the marriage ceremony between her
and her lover, and before that date Bacon had addressed to Mountjoy
('because you loved my lord of Essex') his tardy and inadequate
apology. It was not the fault of Essex that neither his sister nor his
friend suffered with him.'[373]
[Sidenote: Steady progress of Mountjoy.]
The Barony of Farney in Monaghan was next invaded, and the adherents of
Ever MacCooly MacMahon had their houses burned, after which Mountjoy
stayed for a month at Drogheda, and then returned to Dublin. Sick and
tired of the work which he had to do, he told Carew that he could
welcome the Spaniards, 'but I fear me,' he added, 'they are too wise to
come into this country, whom God amend or confound, and send us a quiet
return and a happy meeting in the land of good meat and clean linen,
lest by our long continuing here we turn knaves with this generation
of vipers, and slovens with eating draff with these swine.' The Lord
President in the meantime was reducing Munster to a quiet state. More
than 4,000 persons were pardoned during January and February, and at
the end of March, when Desmond left Ireland, there was scarcely any
more fighting to be done. Carew could despatch troops into Connaught,
and prevent Tyrone from sending help by the road to the Sugane Earl,
who lurked, for the most part, in Tipperary. Lord Barry very nearly
caught him, and accused his enemy the White Knight of harbouring the
traitor. Carew threatened to hold the latter responsible for his
country, and his fears settled the fugitive's fate. His object was to
remain at large until the Spaniards came, but, as usual, they were
too late. Ten years before, a papal archbishop had written that help
was coming. 'Notwithstanding,' he said, 'that the Catholic King his
captains be slow in their affairs, I am certain that the men are
purposed to be sent to comfort the same poor island, which is in
distress a long time.' Another archbishop now urged the last of the
Desmonds to hold out, 'knowing and firmly hoping that the help of my
lord the Catholic King is now coming, which when it cometh all things
shall be prosperous.' The help did come at last, but by that time James
Fitzthomas was in the Tower.[374]
[Sidenote: The last of the Sugane Earl.]
The Knight's followers, one and all, declared that they knew nothing
of the hunted man's whereabouts, though some of them were his daily
companions. Probably they did not believe in their chief's sincerity,
but at last one of them asked him if he was really in earnest, and,
finding that this was so, led him straight to a cave not far from
Mitchelstown, many fathoms deep, and with a narrow entrance, perhaps
the same which tourists still visit as a natural curiosity. The
Knight came to the mouth of the cave with a few men, and summoned
the occupants to surrender. Desmond's only companion was his
foster-brother, Thomas O'Feighy. Appeals to the spirit of clanship
were lost both on the Knight and his men, and threats were also in
vain. Bribes to be paid when the 6,000 Spaniards held Munster--he
mentioned the very number--were not very alluring, and so Tyrone's
Earl was given up to Sir George Thornton, who conveyed him to Cork.
His confinement was close, both there and in Dublin, and irons were
considered necessary. There had been so many escapes from the Castle
that he did all he could to avoid being sent to England by offering to
do shadowy services against Tyrone. But things were not managed as they
had been in Fitzwilliam's time, and to the Tower he came some three
months later. A year afterwards wages were paid to a watcher with him
'in his lunacy,' and he died in the State prison in 1608. His brother
John remained in rebellion and reached Spain, where his son became a
Spanish count, and died fighting bravely in the imperial service. John
Fitzthomas never assumed the title of Desmond in Ireland, and it was to
avoid pretenders that Carew advised the Government to spare the elder
brother's life.[375]
[Sidenote: Mountjoy in Tyrone (June to August).]
Mountjoy allowed himself little rest. Having issued the currency
proclamation, and done what he could to prepare the troops for the
expected Spanish invasion, he started again for Dundalk at the end
of May. A strong work was thrown up in the Moyry pass, effectually
blocking Tyrone's approach on that side. No serious resistance was
offered, but carriage was very difficult, and the Lord-Deputy had to
pay dear for pack-horses. Before the end of June he placed a garrison
of 750 foot and 100 horse at Armagh. He surveyed the scene of Bagenal's
defeat, and made preparations for rebuilding the dismantled fort at
Blackwater. A post was established at Downpatrick, which brought the
Magennis family to their knees, and by the middle of July he felt
strong enough to cross the Blackwater in force. The fords had been
elaborately fortified by Tyrone with trenches and abattis in the
Irish manner, but he scarcely ventured to make any defence. Some of
the colours taken from Bagenal were displayed on the Irish side,
but the Queens troops easily passed over, under cover of two small
field-guns. A new fort was made tenable, and properly entrusted to
gallant Captain Williams, whose leg was broken by a shot in one of
these skirmishes. Mountjoy advanced as far as Benburb, the scene of
Owen Roe O'Neill's great victory half a century later, and there was
a great deal of firing; but Tyrone dared not come to close quarters.
His men had also to spare their powder, while Mountjoy's supply was
practically unlimited. Doctor Latwar, the chaplain, like Walker at the
Boyne, had learned to love fighting for its own sake, and 'affecting
some singularity of forwardness more than his place required,' was
mortally wounded in the head. The Lord-Deputy's chief loss was in his
Irish auxiliaries, and Moryson coolly notes that 'the loss of such
unpeaceable swordsmen was rather gain to the commonwealth.' The latter
part of July was spent in cutting down the corn, and clearing the woods
on both sides of the Blackwater, and the fort being then able to take
care of itself, Mountjoy marched back to Armagh, where he undertook
similar operations. Piers Lacy, the noted Munster rebel, was killed
in an abortive attack upon the camp. It was Mountjoy's intention to
seize Dungannon, and to make it a centre of operations in reducing the
North, and nearly all August was spent in preparing provisions so as
to make a decisive campaign possible during the following winter. He
was at Newry or Dundalk on the 29th, when a letter came from Carew to
say that the Spaniards had been sighted at sea. This forced him to draw
towards Dublin, but he left Ulster firmly bridled by garrisons, and it
is evident that Tyrone would soon have been reduced to extremities if
it had not been for the diversion made by the invasion of Munster.[376]
[Sidenote: Plot against Tyrone's life.]
[Sidenote: An Irish stronghold.]
An Englishman, named Thomas Walker, who had worn out the patience of
his friends, and was in danger of prosecution for a seditious libel,
visited Ireland, as he professed, for pleasure and to see the country.
He reached Armagh in July, and informed Sir Henry Danvers, who was
in command there, that he was going to kill Tyrone, that the idea
was entirely his own, and that he required no help. Danvers was in
command of the garrison, and anxious to do something which might wipe
out the remembrance of his elder brother's treason. He told Walker
that the attempt was honourable but very dangerous, and advised him
to think twice, but having consulted Mountjoy, who was in camp hard
by, he allowed him to pass through the lines. After several narrow
escapes from loose horsemen, Walker came into Tyrone's presence, who
turned pale when he heard of the force at Armagh. The rebel chief was
dressed in a frieze jacket open in front, and 600 or 700 men were in
the neighbourhood. Walker told him his father had been mixed up with
Essex's conspiracy, and that he had come for protection, since the
Queen's government was wont to visit the sins of the fathers on the
children. Tyrone had tears in his eyes when he spoke of Essex's death,
and said that Walker was safe with him. He asked to see some of the new
money, at which he gazed earnestly, some of his train saying, 'These
wars hath made the Queen of England poor, that she coins copper money.'
On hearing that the device was attributed to Cecil, the Earl said he
wished he had him there to make him shorter by a head. The bystanders
used many opprobrious terms, and a Spanish captain took occasion to say
that his master still paid the royallest in the world. For a moment
Walker was close to Tyrone with a sword in his hand, but his heart
failed him, and he got no further opportunity. Tyrone attended mass,
but Walker was not allowed to be present, as he had 'no godfather.' He
was sent on to Dungannon, where he found Lady Tyrone and her mother 'in
a cott,' and they took him to an island stronghold not far off, the
fortifications of which were still unfinished. They crossed in a canoe
and four huge hampers of provisions were brought in, each of which took
three men to carry it. The ladies observed that the whole English army
would attack them there in vain; but Mountjoy, not many weeks before,
had found a soldier to swim over and burn the houses in a similar
stronghold for no greater reward than one angel. Walker was informed
that he was to go to Scotland, whither Tyrone was in the habit of
sending all such visitors. He was strictly forbidden to return to the
camp, and though he offered a round sum for a guide no one was found
bold enough to disobey the chiefs orders. After this he went to Randal
MacSorley, whose favour he gained by professing to be a good Catholic,
and who allowed him to go to Chichester at Carrickfergus. In the end he
was sent back to England. Mountjoy seems to have held that there would
be no harm in murdering a proclaimed rebel upon whose head a price had
been set. He thought Walker little 'better than frantic, though such a
one was not unfit for such an enterprise.'[377]
[Sidenote: Brass money].
[Sidenote: Confusion caused by debasing the coinage.]
'Of all the plagues of that time,' says Macaulay in his history of
1689, 'none made a deeper or a more lasting impression on the minds of
the Protestants of Dublin than the plague of the brass money.' And the
great Dutchman is still toasted for delivering them from that evil. The
attempt of James II. to obtain a revenue in this way was the worst, but
it was neither the first nor the last enterprise of this kind. Swift
roused the people of Dublin to fury by his diatribes against Wood's
patent, which, though not all that he called it, was nevertheless a
scandalous job. Elizabeth's father, brother, and sister had issued
base coin, and she had reaped honour by restoring the standard. And
now she herself listened to the voice of the tempter, who in this
case was Lord Treasurer Buckhurst. Had Burghley been alive, she would
not have been asked to repeat an experiment which had always failed.
The chosen instrument was Sir George Carey, who had succeeded Wallop
as Vice-Treasurer. The expense of the army in Ireland was great, and
Buckhurst imagined that it could be lessened by paying the soldiers in
debased coin. In those days it was generally held that the presence
of bullion in a country was an end in itself; and it was thought
possible to tie the trade of Ireland to England, while preventing the
exportation of sterling money to foreign lands. The money which went
abroad was chiefly spent in arms or powder, and this traffic tended
to maintain the war. The Queen saw clearly that the proposed change
would do her no credit, and that the army would object to it; but she
was hard pressed for money, and allowed herself to be persuaded. All
coin current in Ireland was accordingly cried down by proclamation,
and new twelvepenny, sixpenny, and threepenny pieces were issued, with
a harp on one side, and containing only threepence worth of silver
to each shilling. All payments were to be made in this rubbish, and
no other coin was to be considered legal or current. Those who held
English or foreign money, plate, or bullion 'of the fineness of the
standard of England or better,' might demand a bill of exchange on
London, Bristol, or Chester, payable in sterling money at a premium of
sixpence in the pound. Those who held the new coin might bring it to
Dublin, Cork, Galway, or Carrickfergus, and demand bills of exchange
on the same places in England at the rate of nineteen shillings
sterling to the pound Irish. Those who held English money in Ireland
were entitled to receive twenty-one shillings Irish for every pound,
and bills of exchange upon Ireland were given at the same rate in
England. The old base coin circulating in Ireland was made exchangeable
for its nominal value in the new currency, and the importation of
English money into Ireland was prohibited. This system of exchange
distinguishes Buckhurst's plan from James II.'s, who simply declared
that the impression of his own hard features turned kettles and old
cannon into gold and silver; but it was bad enough. At first the full
extent of the evil was not seen, and Carew who seems not to have been
much more enlightened than the Lord Treasurer, thought no great harm
would be done. But the towns soon began to grumble, and coiners were
quickly at work, even within royal fortresses. English coin being no
longer current in Ireland, the lawyers held that there was no law to
punish those who counterfeited it. The genuine Irish coin was so bad
that it was easy to imitate it and to leave out the silver altogether.
Those who were interested in the trade gave out that the legal currency
contained no silver, and so no one knew what anything was worth. The
Queen lost by the bargain, prices became high and uncertain, and the
only gainers were those who traded in money. Carey controlled the
course of exchange, and it was believed that he profited very largely.
Taught by sad experience, the Irish officials at last announced that
the whole policy of degrading the coin was exceedingly distasteful
to soldiers and merchants, rich and poor. 'We humbly acknowledge,'
they tell the Privy Council, 'that experience showeth that the prices
of things do follow the rate of silver and gold which is in the
money.... And when your lordships do think that the prices of things
by this project shall fall... we are not of that opinion.' An attempt
to restrain the course of exchange only made matters worse, and the
difficulty extended into the next reign, when the English Government at
last came to see that honesty was the best policy.[378]
FOOTNOTES:
[369] The Queen to Mountjoy, Dec. 3, 1600, copy in _Carew_. There are
other letters of the time from Elizabeth to the Lord Deputy beginning
'Mistress kitchenmaid.'
[370] Moryson, part ii. book i. chap. ii. On Jan. 1, 1601, Mountjoy
dates a letter to Carew (in _Carew_) 'from the camp among the rocks and
the woods in these devils' country.'
[371] Moryson, Jan. 29 to Feb. 25, part ii. book ii. chap. ii.;
Mountjoy to Carew, March 11, in _Carew_.
[372] Essex was arrested Feb. 8 and executed Feb. 25. Mountjoy heard
the news on the 22nd and March 2 respectively. Moryson, book i. ch. ii.
[373] Nottingham to Mountjoy, May 31, 1601, enclosing Lady Rich's
letter. Notwithstanding the Lord Admiral's playful allusion to 30
years, Mountjoy was 38 and Penelope 40. The letters are printed in
Goodman's _James I._ ii. 14-20.
[374] Moryson _ut sup._; Mountjoy to Carew, April 10, 1601, in _Carew_;
Edmund MacGauran, titular Archbishop of Armagh, to Captain Eustace June
18/28, 1591, MS. _Hatfield_; Matthew de Oviedo, 'Spanish Archbishop of
Dublin,' to James Fitzthomas, Jan. 3/13, 1601-2, in _Pacata Hibernia_,
book i. chap. xix.
[375] _Pacata Hibernia_, book ii. chap. iii. White Knight to Carew,
May 29, 1601. Many of the letters &c. on this subject are collected in
_Irish Arch. Journal_, 3rd series, vol. i. pp. 544-559. O'Daly wrongly
states that the Queen's Earl stayed on in Ireland after his rival: he
returned to England two months before his capture. From State papers
calendared under June and July, 1608, it appears that John Fitzthomas
was then called Earl of Desmond in Spain.
[376] May 22 to Aug. 29, 1601; Moryson, part ii. book ii. chap. i.
[377] Information of Thomas Walker (taken in England), Oct. 3, 1601,
MS. _Hatfield_; Walker to Mountjoy, Aug. 22; Mountjoy to Cecil, Aug.
23. Walker maintained that he never thought of killing Tyrone until he
found himself in Ireland.
[378] The proclamation is in Morrin's _Patent Rolls_, 1601, of which
several original printed copies are extant, bearing date May 20, 1601.
The whole story may be read in _Carew_, 1601-3, and in the first vol.
of Russell and Prendergast's Calendar. See also Camden and Moryson. In
Feb. 1603 Mountjoy wrote: 'the alteration of the coin, and taking away
of the exchange, in such measure as it was first promised, hath bred a
general grievance unto men of all qualities, and so many incommodities
to all sorts, that it is beyond the judgment of any that I can hear to
prevent a confusion in this estate by the continuance thereof.'
Moryson says the pretence was that the rebels would be impoverished,
whereas the Queen's servants were the real sufferers--'we served in
discomfort and came home beggars, so that only the treasurers and
paymasters had cause to bless the authors of this invention.'